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Absences marked Daryl's life. Merle found his second home in juvie. His father cared more for chasing skirts than providing food. And his mother, she up'n roasted herself while Daryl was out playing. No good-byes. Sometimes he wondered if that was her excuse to get away. It wasn't real.
He held out for reunions; someone always came back.
This time though, the crunch of bones under his knife, the brain matter on his face tells him nothing more real than this.
Merle left him again. With an absence in his life, and no good-bye.
No hope for a reunion neither.